


Baby

by Missy



Category: Evil Dead Series (1981 1987 1993)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Kid Fic, Romance, yes evil dead fic can be fluffy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-01
Updated: 2010-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-10 00:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 714
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/93498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Missy/pseuds/Missy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's what he's calls more than one person, but she wants to make it a special word.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GypsyJr (HippieGeekGirl)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HippieGeekGirl/gifts).



> Hopeless and entirely pointless fluff, written for gypsyjr 'cause she's had a hard couple of weeks. ILU Becky! &lt;3 &lt;3

_Baby: (Bay-BEE): (n): An infant under a year old; not a child; (adj): a loved one. _

***

Ash is a simple man of simple delights. His two favorite words are "yeah" and "baby", the former grunted on multiple occasions and the later used to describe far too many people in his life.

Everyone and everything in his life has been 'baby' at one point or another. Sheila teases him about that propensity of his, and her unwillingness to share a pet name with his gun or her cousin (or their pit bull mix, who has been 'Babycakes' for eight years).

"You called Arthur 'baby'," she points out when she fights him over his overuse of the nickname.

"That was different!" Ash insists.

"How?"

"I was using it in the pejorative sense!" He nods his head, firm in his self-righteousness, and Sheila glares at him, inflexible in her opinions.

She claims her revenge in the simplest of ways - by using all the hot water.

***

The girl is newer; she's "baby" now. At three she is a mirror of him; messy, loud, spontaneous, and willful; he is her favorite person, and she's not shy about wanting him as her bedtime storyteller.

And when she wants to see her father she's an impossible force; Sheila's willing to hand the girl off to him when he walks through the door and take a long soak. From the bathroom she can hear him finishing the story of Rose Red and Snow White.

"Bedtime," he says, implacably.

"No way!"

"Yes way. It's time for you to go kick the sandman in shin," he replies.

"Sing daddy," comes the demanding treble, in a charming tone.

"Aww, Baby...." He is, as always, vulnerable to her sweetness.

"Pleease?"

She hears the mattress rustle, can almost picture the sneaky self-protective look on his face before he breaks into badly-off key rendition of 'Baby of Mine'.

Sheila smiles as their daughter joins him in her own soft, off-key treble, which slowly peters to silence as she falls to sleep. She treasures her small slice of peace as she finishes off her bath, loving him for this.

She loves Ash at the oddest of times - when he's just liberated a Deadite of its head, and when he's driving, his knuckles white on the wheel. But she loves him best when he's parenting their daughter, fighting back the world to save them, though he wants to run and hide from it.

***

He comes to their bedroom unbuttoning his shirt to the navel, two bottles of beer in his right hand. "She slimed me," he complains fondly, giving her the beer, taking off his shirt, flopping onto the bed, and mopping a sticky trail of melted orange popsicle from his neck with the collected mugsweat and his shirt. He stops talking when she gathers the hem of his shirt and wipes the line away.

She cups his cheek and kisses him then, with such ardent purpose that he has to push her back.

"What brought that on?"

She kisses his cheek. "I heard ye singing."

He raises a brow. "Nah. It was the wind or something. You know how it gets in around the eaves.."

She takes his chin in hand. "I love it when ye sing," she says, quite persuasively.

"Yeah? I mean, yeah, of course. What can I say? Chicks love my voice." He nuzzles her ear.

"And I love it that ye call her baby, and no one else," she kisses his lips. "Tis a very special name, and I am glad to pass it on."

"Yeah, well, you complained 'til I gave in...OW," he rubs the tip of his nose, which she's just pinched.

"And I love," she pulls open her robe and shifts her shoulders until it falls to the bed; there's nothing on beneath it, "that ye're such a good father."

He smirks at her, ogling her gleefully. "If you do this every night, I'll be a Cliff Huxtable clone 'til I drop."

She takes his face in hand again. "Ashley?"

"Mm?" His eyes are half-closed now, the bottles of beer dropped to the floor with a soft 'clunk'.

"Shut up," she says, pushing him to the bed and following him down, laughing as she comes to rest upon him.

THE END


End file.
